The 'Squire is going to knock himself down for a winding the streight horn, or beating a thicket Omnes. Bravo, bravo! 1st Fel. The 'Squire has got spunk in him. 2d Fel. I loves to hear him sing, bekeays he never gives us nothing that's low. 3d Fel. O, damn any thing that's low! I cannot bear it. 4th Fel. The genteel thing is the genteel thing at any time. If so be that a gentleman bees in a concatenation accordingly. 3d Fel. I like the maxum of it, Master Muggins. What though I am obligated to dance a bear, a man may be a gentleman for all that. May this be my poison, if my bear ever dances but to the very genteelest of tunes! Water Parted, or the minuet in Ariadne. 2d Fel. What a pity it is the 'squire is not come to his own! It would be well for all the publicans within ten miles round of him. Tony. Ecod, and so it would, Master Slang. I'd then shew what it was to keep choice of company. 2d Fel. O he takes after his own father for that. To be sure, old 'squire Lumpkin was the finest gentleman I ever set my eyes on. For for a hare, or a wench, he never had his fellow. It was a saying in the place, that he kept the best horses, dogs, and girls, in the whole county. Tony. Ecod, and when I'm of Page, I'll be no bastard, I promise you. I have been thinking of Bett Bouncer and the miller's grey mare to begin with. But come, my boys, drink about and be merry, for you pay no reckoning. Well Stingo, what's the matter? Enter Landlord. Land. There be two gentlemen in a postchaise at the door. They have lost their way | upon the forest; and they are talking something about Mr Hardcastle. Tony. As sure as can be, one of them must be the gentleman that's coming down to court my sister. Do they seem to be Londoners? Land. I believe they may. They look woundily like Frenchmen, Tony. Then desire them to step this way, and I'll set them right in a twinkling. [Erit Landlord.] Gentlemen, as they may'ut be good enough company for you, step down for a moment, and I'll be with you in the squeezing of a lemon. [Exeunt Mob. Father-in-law has been calling me whelp, and hound, this half year. Now, if I pleased, I could be so revenged upon the old grumbletonian! But, then, I'm afraid-afraid of what! I shail soon be worth fifteen hundred a-year, and let him frighten me out of that, if he can. Enter LANDLORD, conducting MARLOW and Mar. What a tedious uncomfortable day have we had of it! We were told it was but forty miles across the country, and we have come above threescore. Hast. And all, Marlow, from that unaccountable reserve of yours, that would not let us inquire more frequently on the way. Mar. I own, Hastings, I am unwilling to lay myself under an obligation to every one I meet; and often stand the chance of an unmannerly answer. Hust. At present, however, we are not likely to receive any answer. Tony. No offence, gentlemen. But I'm told you have been inquiring for one Mr Hardcastle, in these parts. Do you know what part of the country you are in? Hast. Not in the least, sir; but should thank you for information. Tony Nor the way you came? Hast No, sir; but if you can inform usTony. Why, gentlemen, if you know neither the road you are going, nor where you are, nor the road you came, the first thing I have to inform you is, that-You have lost your way. Mar. We wanted no ghost to tell us that! Tony. Pray, gentlemen, may I be so bold as to ask the place from whence you came? Mar. That's not necessary towards directing us where we are to go. Tony. No offence: but question for question is all fair, you know. Pray, gentlemen, is not this same Hardcastle a cross-grained, old fashioned, whimsical fellow, with an ugly face, a daughter, and a pretty son? Hast. We have not seen the gentleman, but he has the family you mention. Tony. The daughter, a tall trapesing, trolloping, talkative maypole-The son, a pretty, well-bred, agreeable youth, that every body is fond of. Mar. Our information differs in this. The daughter is said to be well-bred and beautiful; the son, an awkward booby, reared up, and spoiled at his mother's apron-string. Tony. He-he-hem-Then, gentlemen, all I have to tell you is, that you won't reach Mr Hardcastle's house this night, I believe. Hast. Unfortunate! Tony. It's a damned long, dark, boggy, dirty, dangerous way. Stingo, tell the gentlemen the way to Mr Iardcastle's ;-[Winking upon the landlord.] Mr Hardcastic's, of Quagmire Marsh; you understand me? Land. Master Hardcastle's! Lock-a-daisy, my masters, you're come a deadly deal wrong! When you came to the bottom of the hill, you should have crossed down Squash-lane. Hast. What's to be done, Marlow? Mar. This house promises but a poor reception; though, perhaps, the landlord can accommodate us. Land. Alack, master, we have but one spare bed in the whole house. Tony. And, to my knowledge, that's taken up by three lodgers already. [After a pause, in which the rest seem disconcerted.] I have hit it. Don't you think, Stingo, our landlady could accominodate the gentlemen by the fireside, with-three chairs and a bolster? Hast. I hate sleeping by the fireside. Mar. And I detest your three chairs and a bolster. Tony. You do, do you?—then let me seewhat-if you go on a mile further, to the Buck's Head; the old Buck's Head on the hill, one of the best inns in the whole country? Hast. Oho! so we have escaped an adventurc for this night, however, Land. [Apart to Tony.] Sure, you be'nt sending them to your father's as an inn, be you? Tony. Mum, you fool you! Let them find that out. [To them.] You have only to keep on streight forward, till you come to a large old house by the road side. You'll see a pair of large horns over the door. That's the sign. Drive up the yard, and call stoutly about you. Hast. Sir, we are obliged to you. The servants can't miss the way? Tony. No, no: But I tell you, though, the landlord is rich, and going to leave off business; so he wants to be thought a gentleman, saving your presence, he, he, he! He'll be for giving you his company, and, ecod, if you mind him, he'll Land. Then you were to keep straight for- persuade you that his mother was an alderman, ward, 'till you came to four roads. and his aunt a justice of peace! Mar. Cross down Squash-lane! Mar. Come to where four roads meet! Land. A troublesome old blade, to be sure; Tony. Ay; but you must be sure to take only but a keeps as good wines and beds as any in the one of them. Mar. O sir, you're facetious. Tony. Then keeping to the right, you are to go sideways till you come upon Crack-skuil common: there you must look sharp for the track of whole country. Mar. Well, if he supplies us with these, we shall want no further connexion. We are to turn to the right, did you say? the landlord.] Mum! Tony. No, no; straight forward. I'll just step the wheel, and go forward, till you come to far-myself, and shew you a piece of the way. [To mer Murrain's barn. Coming to the farmer's barn, you are to turn to the right, and then to the left, and then to the right about again, till you find out the old mill Mar. Zounds, man! we could as soon find out the longitude! Land. Ah, bless your heart, for a sweet, pleasant-damned mischievous son of a whore! Exeunt. ACT II. Hard. You, Diggory, whom I have taken from the barn, are to make a shew at the side table; and you, Roger, whom I have advanced from the plough, are to place yourself behind my chair. But you're not to stand so, with your hands in your pockets. Take your hands from your pockets, Roger; and from your head, you blockhead you! They're a little too stiff, indeed; but that's no great matter. Hard. What! will no body move? Dig. Wauns, and I'm sure it canna be mine. Hard. You numskulls! and so, while, like your betters, you are quarrelling for places, the guests must be starved? O you dunces! I find I must begin all over again.—But don't I hear a coach drive into the yard? To your posts, you blockheads! I'll go, in the mean time, and give my old friend's son a hearty welcome at the gate. [Erit HARDCASTLE, Dig. By the elevens, my place is gone quite out of my head! Roger. I know that my place is to be every where. Dig. Ay, mind how I hold them! I learned Enter Servant with candles, shewing in MARLOW to hold my hands this way, when I was upon drill for the militia. And so being upon drill Hard. You must not be so talkative, Diggory. You must be all attention to the guests. You must hear us talk, and not think of talking; you must see us drink, and not think of drinking; you must see us eat, and not think of eating! Dig. By the laws, your worship, that's parfectly unpossible. Whenever Diggory sees yeating going forwards, ecod, he's always for wishing for a mouthful himself! Hard. Blockhead! is not a belly-full in the kitchen as good as a belly-full in the parlour? stay your stomach with that reflection! Dig. Ecod, I thank your worship; I'll make a shift to stay my stomach with a slice of cold beef in the pantry! Hard. Diggory, you are too talkative. Then, if I happen to say a good thing, or tell a good story at table, you must not all burst out a laughing, as if you made part of the company. Dig. Then, ecod, your worship must not tell the story of Ould Grouse in the gun-room: I can't help laughing at that he, he, he!-for the soul of me! We have laughed at that these twenty years-ha, ha, ha! Hard. Ha, ha, ha! The story is a good one. Well, honest Diggory, you may laugh at thatbut still remember to be attentive. Suppose one of the company should call for a glass of wine, how will you behave? A glass of wine, sir, if you please. [To Diggory.]-Eh, why don't you move? Dig. Ecod, your worship, I never have courage till I see the eatables and drinkables brought upo' the table, and then I'm as bauld as a lion. and HASTINGS. Ser. Welcome, gentlemen, very welcome! This way. Hast. After the disappointments of the day, welcome once more, Charles, to the comforts of a clean room and a good fire. Upon my word, a very well looking house! antique, but creditable. Mar. The usual fate of a large mansion. Having first ruined the master by good housekeeping, it at last comes to levy contributions as an inn. Hast. As you say, we passengers are to be taxed to pay all these fineries. I have often seen a good sideboard, or a marble chimney-piece, though not actually put in the bill, enflame the reckoning confoundedly. Mar. Travellers, George, must pay in all places. The only difference is, that in good inns, you pay dearly for luxuries; in bad inns, you are fleeced and starved. Hast. You have lived pretty much among them. In truth, I have been often surprised, that you, who have seen so much of the world, with your natural good sense, and your many opportunities, could never yet acquire a requisite share of assu rance. Mar. The Englishman's malady. But tell me, George, where could I have learned that assurance you talk of? My life has been chiefly spent in a college, or an inn, in seclusion from that lovely part of the creation that chiefly teach men confidence. I don't know that I was ever familiarly acquainted with a single modest woman— except my mother-But, among females of another class, you knowHast. Ay; among them you are impudent enough of all conscience. Mar. They are of us, you know. Hast. But, in the company of women of reputation I never saw such an idiot, such a trembler; you look for all the world as if you wanted an opportunity of stealing out of the room. Mar. Why, man, that's because I do want to steal out of the room. Faith, I have often formed a resolution to break the ice, and rattle away at any rate. But, I don't know how, a single glance from a pair of fine eyes has totally overset my resolution. An impudent fellow may counterfeit modesty, but I'll be hanged if a modest man can ever conterfeit impudence. Hast. If you could but say half the fine things to them that I have heard you lavish upon the bar-maid of an inn, or even a college bed-ma ker Mar. Happy man! You have talents and art to captivate any woman. I'm doomed to adore the sex, and yet to converse with the only part of it I despise. This stammer in my address, and this awkward prepossessing visage of mine, can never permit me to soar above the reach of a milliner's 'prentice, or one of the dutchesses of Drury-lane. Pshaw! this fellow here to interrupt us. Enter HARDCAstle. Hard. Gentlemen, once more you are heartily welcome. Which is Mr Marlow? Sir, you're beartily welcome. It's not my way, you see, to receive my friends with my back to the fire. I like to give them a hearty reception, in the old style, at my gate. I like to see their horses and trunks taken care of. Mar. [Aside.] He has got our names from the servants already.-[To him.] We approve your caution and hospitality, sir.-[TO HASTINGS.] I have been thinking, George, of changing our travelling dresses in the morning; I am grown confoundedly ashamed of mine. Mar. Why, George, I can't say fine things to them. They freeze, they petrify me. They may talk of a coinet, or a burning mountain, or some such bagatelle. But, to me, a modest woman, drest out in all her finery, is the most tremen-mony in this house. dous object of the whole creation! Hast. Ha, ha, ha! At this rate, man, how can you ever expect to marry? Hard. I beg, Mr Marlow, you'll use no cere Hast. I fancy, George, you're right: the first blow is half the battle. I intend opening the campaign with the white and gold. Hard. Mr Marlow-Mr Hastings-gentlemen Mar. Never, unless, as among kings and princes, my bride were to be courted by proxy. If,-pray be under no restraint in this house. This indeed, like an eastern bridegroom, one were to is Liberty-hall, gentlemen. You may do just as be introduced to a wife he never saw before, it you please here. might be endured. But to go through all the terrors of a formal courtship, together with the episode of aunts, grand-mothers and cousins, and at last to blurt out the broad staring-question, of, madam, will you marry me? No, no; that's a strain much above rie, assure you. Hast. I pity you. But how do you intend behaving to the lady you are come down to visit at the request of your father? Mar. As I behave to all other ladies. Bow very low. Answer yes, or no, to all her demands-But, for the rest, I don't think I shall venture to look in her face, till I see my father's again. Hast. I'm surprised, that one, who is so warm a friend, can be so cool a lover. Mar. To be explicit, my dear Hastings, my chief inducemment down was to be instrumental in forwarding your happiness, not my own. Miss Neville loves you; the family don't know you; as my friend, you are sure of a reception, and let honour do the rest, Hast. My dear Marlow! But I'll suppress the emotion. Were I a wretch, meanly seeking to carry off a fortune, you should be the last man in the world I would apply to for assistance. But Miss Neville's person is all I ask, and that is mine, both from her deceased father's consent, and her own inclination. VOL. II. Mar. Yet, George, if we open the campaign too fiercely at first, we may want ammunition before it is over. I think to reserve the embroidery to secure a retreat. Hard. Your talking of a retreat, Mr Marlow, puts me in mind of the duke of Marlborough, when he went to besiege Denain. He first summoned the garrison Mar. Don't you think the ventre dor waistcoat will do with the plain brown? Hard. He first summoned the garrison, which might consist of about five thousand men— Hast. I think not: Brown and yellow mix but very poorly. Hard. I say, gentlemen, as I was telling you, he summoned the garrison, which might consist of about five thousand men— Mar. The girls like finery. Hard. Which might consist of about five thou sand men, well appointed with stores, ammunition, and other implements of war. Now, says the duke of Mariborough to George Brooks, that stood next to him--You must have heard of George Brooks?--I'll pawn my dukedom, says he, but I take that garrison without spilling a drop of blood. So Mar. What, my good friend, if you give us a glass of punch in the mean time? it would help us to carry on the siege with vigour. 6 D Hard. Punch, sir! [Aside.] This is the most | gene, when he fought the Turks at the battle of unaccountable kind of modesty I ever met with! Belgrade. You shall hear. Mar. Yes, sir, punch. A glass of warm punch, after our journey, will be comfortable. This is Liberty-hall, you know. Hard. Here's cup, sir. Mar. [Aside.] So this fellow, in his Libertyhall, will only let us have just what he pleases. Hard. [Taking the cup.] I hope you'll find it to your mind. I have prepared it with my own hands, and I believe you'll own the ingredients are tolerable. Will you be so good as to pledge me, sir? Here, Mr Marlow, here is to our better acquaintance! [Drinks. Mar. [Aside.] A very impudent fellow this! but he's a character, and I'll humour him a little. Sir, my service to you. [Drinks. Hast. [Aside.] I see this fellow wants to give us his company, and forgets that he's an innkeeper, before he has learned to be a gentle man. Mar. From the excellence of your cup, my old friend, I suppose you have a good deal of business in this part of the country? Warm work, now and then, at elections, I suppose? Hard. No, sir, I have long given that work over. Since our betters have hit upon the expedient of electing each other, there's no business for us that sell ale. Hast. So, then, you have no turn for politics, I find? Hard. Not in the least. There was a time, indeed, I fretted myself about the mistakes of government, like other people; but finding myself every day grow more angry, and the government growing no better, I left it to mend itself. Since that, I no more trouble my head about Heyder Alley, or Ally Cawn, than about Ally Croaker. Sir, my service to you. [Drinks. Hast. So that, with eating above stairs, and drinking below, with receiving your friends within, and amusing them without, you lead a good pleasant bustling life of it. Hard. I do stir about a good deal, that's certain. Half the differences of the parish are adjusted in this very parlour. Mar. [After drinking.] And you have an argument in your cup, old gentleman, better than any in Westminster-hall, Hard. Ay, young gentleman, that, and a little philosophy. Mar. [Aside.] Well, this is the first time I ever heard of an innkeeper's philosophy. Hust. So then, like an experienced general, you attack them on every quarter. If you find their reason manageable, you attack it with your philosophy; if you find they have no reason, you attack them with this. Here's your health, my philosopher! [Drinks. Hard. Good, very good, thank you; ha, ha! Your generalship puts me in mind of Prince Eu Mar. Instead of the battle of Belgrade, I think it's almost time to talk about supper. What has your philosophy got in the house for supper? Hard. For supper, sir!-[Aside. Was ever such a request to a man in his own house! Mar. Yes, sir, supper, sir; I begin to feel an appetite. I shall make devilish work to-night in the larder, I promise you. Hard. [Aside.] Such a brazen dog sure never my eyes beheld ![To him.] Why, really, sir, as for supper, I can't well tell. My Dorothy and the cook-maid settle these things between them, I leave these kind of things entirely to them. Mar. You do, do you? Hard. Eutirely. By the by, I believe they are in actual consultation upon what's for supper this moment in the kitchen. Mar. Then I beg they'll admit me as one of their privy council. It's a way I have got. When I travel, I always chuse to regulate my own supper. Let the cook be called. No offence, I hope, sir? Hard. O no, sir; none in the least; yet I don't know how, our Bridget, the cook-maid, is not very communicative upon these occasions. Should we send for her, she might scold us all out of the house. Hast. Let's see the list of the larder, then. I ask it as a favour. I always match my appetite to my bill of fare. Mar. [To HARDCASTLE, who looks at them with surprise.] Sir, he's very right, and it's my way, too. Hard. Sir, you have a right to command here. Here, Roger, bring us the bill of fare for tonight's supper. I believe it's drawn out. Your manner, Mr Hastings, puts me in mind of my uncle, colonel Wallop. It was a saying of his, that no man was sure of his supper till he had eaten it. Hast. [Aside.] All upon the high ropes! His uncle a colonel! we shall soon hear of his mother being a justice of peace. But let's hear the bill of fare. Mar. [Perusing.] What's here? For the first course; for the second course; for the dessert. The devil, sir! do you think we have brought down the whole joiners' company, or the corporation of Bedford, to eat up such a supper? Two or three little things, clean and comfortable, will do. Hast. But, let's hear it. Mar. [Reading.] For the first course at the top, a pig and pruin sauce. Hast. Damn your pig, I say! Mar. And damu your pruin sauce, say I! Hard. And yet, gentlemen, to men that are hungry, pig, with pruin sauce, is very good eating. |